


Appraisal

by dechagny



Category: Ghosts (TV 2019)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon Compliant, Comfort, Gay Panic, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Sexuality Crisis, The Captain is Gay (Ghosts TV 2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:07:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28198866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dechagny/pseuds/dechagny
Summary: When Alison seeks the services of an antique book dealer to appraise the Button House library, he causes quite a stir among the ghosts, but perhaps to no-one more than The Captain.
Relationships: Alison & The Captain (Ghosts TV 2019), The Captain (Ghosts TV 2019) & Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 107





	Appraisal

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This fic was born from a request sent to me EONS ago by Fran (tumblr user winoforever32) and I've finally had some time/energy to complete it. I'm sorry for the wait, my dear, and thanks for all your support and kind words over the last few months - I hope you enjoy this!

When Edgar Kennedy first arrived at Button House, he caused a small stir among the ghosts.

He knocked on the door with an elegant, musical rap and waited patiently on the step, tapping his brown leather brogues in time to the song stuck in his head. He couldn’t remember the name of it, but it didn’t matter – it was nice to appreciate the music as it was, so he didn’t bother trying to wrack his mind for it.

As Alison opened the door, he was looking up at the light stretch of sky above him and at a bird circling the chimney in a graceful swoop.

“Alison Cooper, I presume?” he said with a grin, turning to face her and pushing his thin-rimmed glasses up his Roman nose with neat, square-tipped fingers.

“That’s right,” she said unsurely, casting a critical eye over him. He was straddling the line between casual and professional, combining a clean white shirt with a starched collar with a pair of dark jeans and a grey knitted cardigan with a coffee-coloured tie. When he pulled out his business card from the leather satchel thrown over his shoulder, she spotted a glimpse of the matching brown elbow patches on his sleeves. “Oh,” she said, her face visibly relaxing as she caught his name. “From Kennedy and Sons, right? Sorry, I was expecting someone… _older_.”

The image in her head was of a wizened old man with deep wrinkles and grey hair with an air of bland pomp. But Edgar couldn’t have been much older than thirty, and he had the lightest of laughter lines around his mouth and shining forest-green eyes. Alison wasn’t usually one to judge or assume, but in all fairness, his name didn’t exactly inspire visions of youth.

“It’s okay.” Edgar smiled to expose the single crooked incisor nestled in his otherwise perfect pearl mouth. “Everyone expects someone older,” he explained as he followed Alison into the hallway.

“I assume you’re one of the sons then?”

“The only one, actually,” he said sheepishly. “It’s just my two assistants and me now.”

“Still, must be nice to be carrying on in your father’s footsteps,” Alison continued, leading him towards the library. She did her best to ignore the gaggle of voices that followed her – especially that of Lady Button who was becoming high-pitched as she warned Alison against letting this man rifle through her library.

“Some of these books are first editions,” she stressed. “They’ve been in our family for generations! They are antiques and should be treated as such.”

Alison pressed her lips together and bit back the urge to point out that’s why she had called Edgar in the first place. After all, he was an expert in these things.

That’s when she realised he’d spoken, but she hadn’t heard a word. He was looking at her with a curious expression that was bordering on becoming a nervous laugh. Tilting his head, he scratched at his smooth chin, cocking a single dark eyebrow.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?” she asked, stopping outside the door to the library. She had her hand resting on the doorknob as she stared intently at Edgar, doing her best not to glance over his shoulder at Fanny’s disapproval or Pat trying to compliment him on his mop of curls.

“Like a young Donny Osmond,” he said with a grin. “Only if Donny’s hair was shorter…and curlier.”

Julian frowned at him. “Not like Donny at all then,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Edgar. The two of them fell into a good-natured debate, swapping the names of actors they remembered with glee, eventually quoting lines at one another with a laugh.

“It doesn’t matter,” Edgar insisted, gesturing to the door. “May I?”

Alison blinked slowly and then pushed on the doorknob with an embarrassed laugh. “Right…sorry. I’m away with the fairies today.”

“It happens to the best of us.” Edgar’s words trailed off into nothing more than a whisper as he took in the sight of the impressive library and its tall shelves. His eyes seemed to have transformed from khaki to gold as he dropped his satchel on the chair closest to him, his fingers itching at his sides. “It’s beautiful…” he said, running his fingers along one of the shelves, smiling as his fingers picked up dust. He was spying at the spines of books as he went. “What is this? Mahogany?”

“Oak,” Alison said after being prompted by Lady Button. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to your appraisal. Just give me a shout if you need anything. Oh! Can I get you a cup of tea?”

He wiped his dusty hands on his jeans and then swiped a pair of white cotton gloves from his bag, taking out a notebook and pen too. With a flick of his wrist, he shook out a glove. “Please. That would be marvellous.”

From somewhere at the back of the group, Thomas gave a sharp gasp. “Who is this cad who dares challenge Alison to a duel in such as a casual manner?!”

“Don’t be silly, Thomas,” Pat said, adjusting his glasses on his face. “He’s using the gloves, so he doesn’t accidentally damage the books, see?” he added, nodding towards Edgar who was putting on the second glove.

Alison disappeared to make the tea, leaving Edgar alone – except for the few ghosts who stayed to observe him as he began delicately pulling books from the shelves, gently brushing the dust from the tops of the pages and the spines as he went. Every few books, he whistled at a title, or let his eyes dance as he opened the covers with a feather-like touch, caressing the pages as he searched for the publishing details.

With bated breath, Kitty watched him, growing excited at all the novels she’d yet to read, claiming she wanted to read this one next, but then changing her mind and saying actually, maybe she should read that one with the silver dust jacket. Or a modern one! Yes, how delightful! Was there something more contemporary on these old shelves?

Thinking himself alone, Edgar began to swing between singing to himself and whistling as he worked, logging each book of particular interest in his notepad, and placing them into a separate pile on the table. His song was out of tune and changed pitch frequently. This was made worse by Kitty singing along – her high-pitched voice bouncing off the bare shelf and walls, so the room filled with a cacophony of music punctuated by the scratching of a pen and the crinkling flutter of pages.

“What is that racket, Kitty?” The Captain asked, making his way towards the library with a huff, brandishing his swagger stick. “Humphrey and I can barely hear ourselves…think,” he finished quietly, his eyes alighting on Edgar.

“I was just singing along with Edgar,” she explained quickly, twisting her body in time with his continuing whistle. “I don’t know what song it is, but I like it!”

The Captain tucked the stick under his arm and cleared his throat, closely watching the newcomer as he rose from his chair to slide another armful of books from the shelf. He carried the weighty tomes with ease, dropped them carefully on the table in a plume of dust, and tucked hair behind his ear.

From his angle at the door, The Captain could see the dark shadow creeping along Edgar’s jaw and how his black hair seemed to gleam blue under the sunlight streaming in through the window. The aquiline profile of his face made him look like a modern Pharaoh, and, when Alison came back with the tea, his smile burst from him and gave The Captain cause to clear his throat.

“Thank you,” Edgar said after taking a sip. “I think this is going to take a while,” he said, looking around the room with the same wonder as if he’d just walked in. “So, I have a feeling I’ll be here every few days for the next few weeks.” There was a hint of apology in his voice, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his joy. “Do you mind if I bring my assistants next time? I think it might be better if we take on this battle from multiple angles. A three-pronged attack, as it were. An ambush,” he added, warming to his theme.

At this, The Captain raised his eyebrows appreciatively. “Yes, an effective method and the perfect way to cover more ground. We did a similar thing in- “

“Yeah, that’s not a problem,” Alison said, raising her voice at Edgar a decibel louder than she had meant. “Do what you need to do.”

She was unaware of The Captain wringing his hands behind him or the way he was finding it difficult to take his eyes off his profile despite Kitty talking incessantly into his ear.

* * *

The second time Edgar Kennedy arrived at Button House, it was two days later, and he was followed by a man older than him who was closely aligned to the image Alison had of a typical book dealer. The idea of him being an assistant was more amusing than it should have been. Beside him was a younger girl, perhaps no older than nineteen, who seemed to be uncomfortable with her own gangly limbs.

They walked into the library, unaware of how many pairs of eyes were actually on them. Upon seeing the library, the older man looked bored whilst the girl appeared daunted. Both were still pulling on their gloves when Edgar rubbed his eager hands together – his own gloves an antithesis to his dark complexion – and began laying out his battle plan.

“Frederick, I want you to take this bookshelf here,” he said, gesturing the one he’d already begun work on. “Melissa, can you take the one closest to the window? I’ll be here in the middle. I want you to log every book whether it’s worth anything or not, and any that are of particular interest or note to us, I’d like you to stack on the table. Any other books can be stacked back on the shelves in the usual manner.” He paused to fold up the sleeves of his mustard jumper, making sure there was a neat line at the crook of his elbows. “I mean, we might as well organise whilst we’re here.”

Something stirred within The Captain, and he hummed thoughtfully, pushing the sound through his nose as he dragged his eyes appreciatively over Edgar’s toned biceps and squared shoulders. He reminded him of a clothed statue of Hercules and briefly wondered how a simple antique book dealer came to have a physique that would be better suited to a soldier.

He followed Edgar around the library like a fly, incessantly bounding around him and telling him he was doing an excellent job of managing his squadron.

“You have a wonderful eye, Edgar,” he said with a sniff, grinning at a book that matched Edgar’s own wonderment. “You could sniff out an antique with your eyes closed, I’ll wager.”

“Anyone could see what’s worth something here, Captain,” Fanny said matter-of-factly. “Everything is in mint condition, and we Buttons have prided ourselves on our extensive collection of first editions for generations.”

The Captain pressed his mouth into a tight line as he took in the separate piles – one considerably larger than the other. The books that weren’t worth anything were mostly Heather’s romance novels and a Scoutmaster’s Handbook.

“I’d wondered where I’d put that,” Pat said, his chubby cheeks forced wider by his smile. “I bet the first aid section has had a few revisions over the years. It tells you to always be prepared, but it doesn’t prepare you for…” he gestured to his neck with a laugh.

“Ooh, saucy,” Julian smirked, looking over the romance novels, nodding towards one with an illustrated cover depicting a rugged, overly buff man without his shirt in the woods, carrying a woman in his arms who was lying limply, her hair cascading like Rapunzel’s. She was inappropriately dressed for the woods and the approaching storm. “I remember Heather reading that one. In fact, I do believe she read it twice, actually, in one weekend. She ended up-”

From the back of the room, there was a single tut and a long, exasperated sigh. “Yes, we were all there, Julian. There’s no need to remind us,” said Humphrey from the top of a stack of papers on the windowsill – Kitty having placed him there as a kind of makeshift, useless paperweight so he could ‘join in all the fun.’

She was trying to get the attention of Melissa now – the living girl looking through Kitty as she tied back her thin, limp blonde hair with the black band around her wrist.

“Do you have a favourite book?” Kitty asked her as she set about rifling through her designated bookcase. “Alison let me read Lady Chatterley’s Lover – it was scintillating! Have you ever read it?”

“She can’t hear you, Kitty,” Fanny said impatiently, keeping one eye on Frederick as he dropped a clothbound book. “Oh, be careful, you stupid old man!” she snapped at him, not noticing the irony. “That was given to me by my father!”

All the while, Thomas had been watching Melissa as closely as Kitty had been. He noticed her awkward nerves, mistaking her anxious glances at Edgar as she pined for reassurance in her work for longing, affectionate stares. In return, Edgar’s encouraging smiles and fatherly tenderness was taken as a reciprocation.

“She is so modest in her affections,” Thomas sighed, “like she doesn’t believe she deserves his love. A love he so clearly shares for her.”

The Captain’s eyebrow twitched as he looked between Edgar and Melissa, both of whom were engrossed in their shelves. “Does he?” he asked, his mouth twisting into a grimace as he once more drunk in the sight of Edgar’s profile.

“It’s obvious! They dare not stare too long, lest their true feelings are revealed. They work together, so it complicates things… it’s a forbidden love affair!”

Murmuring and discussion erupted as almost began to argue over whether Thomas was right – the only quiet person was The Captain, who, for the first time in decades, was wondering how fast his heart would be beating if it could. He’d forgotten what it was like to feel that rhythmic drumming beneath his ribs, for it had been gone longer than it had been there. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to know how a heart might behave when looking at someone like Edgar Kennedy.

The din grew louder as Robin and Mary joined them; the pair had been more interested in the beatdown 1974 Tundra Roadster that the guests had arrived in. They were charmed by its deep colour of crushed grass and intrigued by the spluttering, coughing sound it made as it had driven over the gravel, so much so that they inspected it closely, even looking underneath it for the source of its grumblings.

“It be not likes the carriages that haves come before!” Mary had said as Robin walked around the car to look at the exhaust pipe that had been spewing black only moments before.

But now they too were mingling with the living, throwing in their opinions of them and of the books they’d never read, slinking into the conversation about the supposed affections lying between Melissa and Edgar.

Robin had sidled up to the silent Captain. His eyes were still trained on Edgar, like he was spying on an enemy insurgent, and had his fingers curled tightly around his swagger stick. His Adam’s apple bobbed furiously under his solid neck.

“Why you have face like slapped bum?” asked Robin, smirking when The Captain snapped his head round to face him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You look at fancy book man and friends. You have face like slapped bum,” Robin explained, clearly thinking he was being far wiser than he was when you considered his knowing glance. Though what he thought he knew was anyone’s guess. “You not want them here, going through your things?”

“They’re not my things,” The Captain bristled, but something inside him seemed to pop when he noticed Julian trying to push over Edgar’s neatly stacked pile of books he deemed of value. He brandished his stick and grumbled, trying to clear his throat at the same time. It reminded Mary and Robin of the noises Edgar’s car made. “Now, that’s enough! Everybody out this instant,” he insisted, not budging an inch when the others protested. “These people have a job to do – they’re a well-oiled machine, and you’re all getting in the way. No, no, I won’t stand for it, you hear? Everybody out!”

Pat baulked but stepped towards the library door anyway. “They can’t see or hear us, mate,” he reminded him. “We aren’t disturbing them.”

“We can’t take that risk,” The Captain said, shepherding him and the others out. He allowed Kitty to run back in and collect Humphrey. “Now, you can all go about your days and leave the professionals to work.”

Julian looked The Captain up and down and the way he was still stood on the other side of the open door. “What about you then, eh? Why do you get to stay behind?”

Standing a little straighter and holding the swagger stick closer to him, clinging to it like a life raft whilst lost at sea, The Captain took a deep breath in through his nose. “Well, someone needs to keep an eye on things, and as a ranking officer, I think I’m best suited to such a task. I will report back to Alison anything of note,” he finished, tucking his stick under his arm, and bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Slowly, they all began to meander down the corridor, deciding that this was an argument they’d rather not have. But Fanny briefly turned back, turning her nose up as she watched the strangers finger the fine pages that had once belonged to her husband’s father.

“Be careful of that one,” she said, gesturing to Frederick. “He’s too doddery and inept for my liking.”

Once she had flitted down the corridor too, The Captain smiled to himself as he watched the three work in peace – being lulled by the sounds of crinkling pages, scratching pens, and the harmonious music that can only be made by people working in order. Working as one.

“Did you catch the test match at the weekend?” Frederick asked, disrupting the comfortable silence.

Edgar lit up at this and lifted his head, carefully brushing his curls from his eyes as they bounced at his fluid movements. “Of course. India was in fine form, don’t you think? We were running rings around you.”

If a chair had been available, The Captain might have sunk into one, his mouth agape.

“You do realise that you’re half English as well, don’t you?” Melissa pointed out.

Here, Edgar gave a sly smirk that made The Captain tighten his grip on the stick again. He had to drop his gaze to the floor to stop his stomach from lurching.

“Yes,” Edgar continued, “but not when it comes to cricket. I’m always the nationality of the winner in that case.”

The Captain thought that Edgar’s smile could disarm anyone.

* * *

The third time Edgar Kennedy visited Button House, it was a week later, and The Captain found himself feeling listless in the interim. Pat was doing his best with his activities and clubs, but The Captain was irritated by them more than he was entertained. When his bad mood had festered enough to make him snap at poor Pat, he apologised and retreated to the kitchen to find Alison, her hands submerged in the soapy water of the sink.

“That Mister Kennedy,” he said, clearing his throat. “When is he coming back?” He frowned in thought as Alison gave him a peculiar glance. “He’s left quite a mess in the library. It’s no good at all.”

“I don’t know,” replied Alison with a simple shrug of her shoulders. “Soon, I should think. He said he’d let me know when he was ready…but Edgar does have other clients to see and days off to enjoy too, you know.”

The Captain grumbled, grinding his molars together as he restlessly paced to Alison’s other side. “Well, tell him to hurry up.”

“If you’re that worried about the mess then I can go and tidy up a bit.”

“No, no!” he said quickly, pressing his lips together. “It might be organised chaos. Just tell him he should come back as soon as he has some spare time.”

Alison pulled the plug from the sink, and the water disappeared with a thirsty glug. She wiped her hands on a gingham tea towel, tilting her head at The Captain with a baffled expression. “Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t,” The Captain retorted defensively. He could feel his mask slipping, and he raised his chin as if that might stop it from falling away altogether. “It’s just…I know you and Michael are eager to get this place up and running.”

Suddenly, in a flash of divine intervention, the doorbell rang through the house, letting out its deep and metallic hum. The Captain eagerly followed Alison to the door, straightening his jacket behind her and running a hand through his hair as she heaved open the door to the very man they had been talking to.

Once again, he was dressed immaculately – this time in a burgundy shirt and a cream jumper that The Captain could see the outline of his shirt buttons through.

“Sorry to drop by without warning,” he said as Alison led him through, unaware of the ghost who was trying to say hello. “A client cancelled, and I was nearby anyway.”

“It’s fine,” she said easily. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”

“Please,” Edgar answered, heading to the library as Alison veered in the opposite direction. The Captain followed Edgar, muttering about the mess until Alison was no longer in earshot.

Alone in the room together, The Captain perched on the windowsill as Edgar pulled on his gloves and spoke to himself as he rolled up his sleeves, reminding himself what was still left to do and what Frederick and Melissa had done a week earlier.

So consumed was The Captain by Edgar’s presence and effortless beauty – he’d missed a few days of shaving, giving him a ruggedness that only added to his charm rather than making him look scruffy – he didn’t notice which books he was looking at. It was only when a slip of something fell from the pages, and Alison walked in that The Captain stood to attention like a good soldier.

Edgar put The Poems of Wilfred Owen on the table and bent down to retrieve the fallen scrap. The Captain frowned as he came closer, as curious as Alison as she set aside the mug.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Edgar answered absently, running his fingers over the slip, which, now that The Captain could see it, was actually a small photograph that he knew well. “I think this was being used as a bookmark. A grandparent of yours?” he asked, handing it to her.

Alison bit back her surprise as she took in The Captain’s sepia-toned face. In the photograph, he was much like he was now – a little younger, of course – but still the same. His uniform was neatly pressed, and his moustache covered his top lip, hiding the stoic line of his face. The strangest thing about the photo to Alison was how much he looked more like a ghost here than he did in person. Or rather, what was left of his person. She could see he was bold and bright, electricity bouncing off him as he commanded whichever room he was in, but here? Captured on photo paper? He was grey with a far-off look in his eyes that made him seem haunted.

When she looked towards The Captain, he just cleared his throat and said, “I don’t know how that got in there.”

“No,” Alison said, smiling at Edgar. “He’s a friend. Was a friend. An old friend of the family’s,” she clarified.

Edgar nodded, taking another look at the photo with a nostalgic air. “I love old photos. They say a lot about people who can’t say anything for themselves anymore.” He didn’t notice Alison stifling a bark of laughter, and he certainly didn’t see The Captain trying to argue and disprove his point. “He was very handsome, wasn’t he? I bet he was even more beautiful in person. Very kind eyes.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Alison breathed, noticing the confliction building in The Captain as he couldn’t decide where to settle his eyes. The photograph or Edgar?

He didn’t speak as he finally decided to watch Edgar watch an old version of himself. Alison and Edgar were talking, but he couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying – he was too preoccupied with the fact that Edgar thought he was handsome. Edgar had seen him and thought he had kind eyes.

Without understanding why he felt the overwhelming need to, The Captain babbled an excuse to Alison and fled.

“Sorry, Edgar,” she said, jumping into his train of thought. “I just need to go and check something. Can I keep this?” She picked up the poetry, glancing behind her as if The Captain might have changed his mind.

“It’s yours, you can do what you like with it,” the book dealer reminded her.

She nodded and promised she wouldn’t be long, setting off after The Captain in a gentle jog. It didn’t take her long to find him – he was sitting on the edge of the bed in his room, fiddling with the swagger stick on his lap.

“What’s going on?” she asked gently, carefully joining him at his side. “Is everything okay?”

“Quite alright,” The Captain answered. “I think seeing the photograph made me feel a little…” he sighed and let the tension leave his shoulders as Alison tucked the picture back into the book.

Alison was nodding as she tried to organise her own thoughts and words. “Feel a little out of sorts? Because you’ve been acting a little weird ever since Edgar first started coming by.”

Snapping his head up, The Captain frowned. “I have?”

“A little. Nothing to be worried about…I just wondered if you were feeling okay?” Alison smiled sympathetically. “You’ve lived here for so long…it can’t be easy for you all to watch Mike and I bring all these strangers here and disrupt your lives. Deaths.”

The Captain couldn’t help but smile. “Oh no. I think we’ve all gotten over that.”

“Well, that’s something. So, how did your picture end up in a book of poems? Did you always use photos of yourself as a bookmark?”

There was a pause as he shook his head. “The only person I saw reading poetry was my… _our_ …lieutenant.”

“Oh,” Alison said, raising her eyebrow and setting the book aside. “Okay. You looked like you were enjoying sitting with Edgar until he found the picture. In fact,” she said, thinking back to his other visits, “you seem to enjoy being in his company every time he’s here.”

“He’s…pleasant to be around,” The Captain conceded. “Young Edgar knows the value of order and the benefits a solid plan of attack… it’s a wonderful thing to see. And we have remarkably similar interests too.” He glanced past Alison to look at the book of poetry. “I haven’t felt this kind of affinity for a person since…well…” He left the sentence suspended in the atmosphere and cleared his throat, smoothing out his tie with a flat palm.

“If that’s the case, why did you run away when he said what he did about you?”

The Captain frowned, holding the ends of his swagger stick tight. “I didn’t run away. I made a hasty, tactical retreat…and I don’t know why.”

“Well,” Alison began slowly, hunching her shoulders as she pressed her hands further into the soft mattress. “People and armies usually retreat when it doesn’t make sense to keep fighting, don’t they? Either they’re out of ammo, or they don’t have enough soldiers to carry on and win, or they’re scared. You don’t have ammo or any soldiers to fight with you.”

She was expecting him to say something, but when he didn’t, and instead just looked at her with a half heartbroken pout, she continued. “So, that Lieutenant with the poetry…did you ever run away from him if he said something nice about you?”

“No. He ran away from me,” said The Captain, sniffing.

“And how did that make you feel?”

“Vile. I felt utterly wretched and vile.”

“What about when you were together?” Alison spoke softly, partially to comfort The Captain and partly to keep her voice being heard by Edgar.

The Captain straightened his spine as he thought about her question but came to the answer quickly. “Wonderful. We had so much to talk about, and despite the war, we managed to have fun. I enjoyed being in his company.”

Alison nodded, smiling to herself. “Okay, now how do you feeling about running away from Edgar?”

“Vile,” he admitted begrudgingly.

“And when you’re together?”

The Captain twisted his mouth, still a little unsure of what all this actually meant. “Wonderful. I enjoy being in his company.”

“Right,” Alison sighed, scratching her hairline. “And why do you think I’m connecting those two?”

“I don’t know,” he answered tightly, staring at his khaki trousers intently. He felt like a coiled spring being put under too much pressure.

Alison didn’t say anything for a few moments. She just let The Captain sit with the feelings she floated past him, doing her best not to stare at him, so he didn’t feel like a fish in an aquarium, being gawped at by nosy children as they tapped on the glass.

“I think I might know why,” she ventured carefully. “I felt much the same about Mike before we started dating.”

Like he was being pressed with hot pokes, The Captain leapt forth from the bed, brandishing his stick as he stuttered over his indignation. Alison barely flinched.

“Now look here,” he said, “I don’t know what you’re trying to insinuate but…” The words caught in his throat like they were coated in molasses, silencing him in an instant with a gargle. “But…”

“I’m not really insinuating anything,” Alison told him, knowing that was a lie. “But if you think what I said about Mike rings a bell…then maybe there’s something more going on. What do you think?”

The Captain dropped limply back on to the bed. Once again, he found himself wondering what his heart would be doing now if he could feel it – his hand touching his chest as though it might shock him back into life. “It’s complicated.”

“Is it? Your lieutenant, briefly Mike, Adam, and now Edgar…” Alison said slowly. “Don’t you think there’s a pattern here?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Alison shrugged. “If that’s what you say, I believe you.” She paused, watching The Captain tumble into deep thought. “But…if it makes things easier or helps you somehow, I want you to know that it’s okay. Being gay-“The Captain jerked his head up to look at her – “isn’t a big deal anymore. Not really. Maybe it was in your time, and it’s hard to let it go…but times have changed.”

To her surprise, The Captain didn’t argue. “It’s a lot to take in,” he breathed. “I don’t know how to...”

“I know,” Alison said kindly. “And I’m not going to say anything to anyone either. Do and say whatever makes you happy, okay? Take your time with it.” She grinned at him, tucking her hair behind her ear. “You’ve got good taste, by the way. Edgar is absolutely beautiful - it's almost a shame that he spends all his time cooped up in bookshelves.”

The Captain raised his eyebrows and cleared his throat. There was a mild lightness to his posture that hadn’t been there earlier. “He’s certainly easy on the eyes.”

A rush of delight ran through Alison, and she went to companionably nudge him on the arm, but she ended up just falling through him, the both of them groaning as she hit the pillow.

“Good Lord,” The Captain grumbled, shaking away the nausea feeling that was rumbling through him.

“Sorry,” Alison said, rolling over the bed to the other side so she could get up without shoving a body part through him. “I forgot. Anyway,” she continued after she had perched next to him again. “What I wanted to say was, you should go and spend as much time with Edgar as you can. If you like spending time with him, you should do it.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely,” she said surely. “He won’t be around forever, and I think it’s important you seize the things that bring you joy…especially when you can’t experience much outside these walls.”

Out of all the feelings The Captain was experiencing – confusion, nerves, relief, understanding, and more that he hadn’t even recognised – the thing that stood out most was how… _anticlimactic_ it felt. It even seemed manageable to an extent.

“Thank you, Alison, you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“It’s no problem,” she chirped, getting to her feet and scooping up the poetry book as she went. “What do you want me to do with these? Have you ever read them?”

“No,” he admitted.

Alison nodded and carefully placed the book, photograph still hidden inside, on The Captain’s nightstand. “Maybe you should. Just let me know when you fancy it, and I’ll give you a hand.”

“Thank you,” he said. “And thank you for this…” The Captain wasn’t sure how to refer to their conversation, so he just gestured in the direction of the library.

“Hey, if you ever want to talk about it further when you’re ready, I’m always here,” she said casually. The Captain didn’t feel pressured to say anything back, and instead, they walked back to the library in sociable silence.

Edgar was hunched over the table, cataloguing a stack of books, and sipping his tea. The bridge of his glasses was sitting on the tip of his nose. The Captain smiled at him when he noticed Edgar correcting his posture as Alison emerged.

“Everything okay?” he asked her. Sincerity oozed out of every one of his tiny pores.

“Yeah, I just needed to take care of something,” she said, waving a nonchalant hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see The Captain taking a seat on the windowsill. “Anyway, I feel like we haven’t gotten to talk much. Why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”

And that was the first time The Captain heard Edgar Kennedy laugh. Albeit it was nervous laughter that bordered on a titter, but it sounded like smooth, buttery caramel and the action deepened the delicate lines decorating his face.

“Okay,” he said, grinning as marked off another book in his notepad, “well, I studied Literature at University, much to my poor mother’s chagrin…”

As Edgar spoke, The Captain hung on every word, mouthing another thank you to Alison – she gave him a conspiratorial wink when Edgar wasn’t looking. And this time, he knew exactly how his heart might behave because he could feel the tell-tale glow warming his chest.


End file.
